


On This Day, One Year Ago

by Yavannie



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Awkward Kissing, Coming Out, F/M, Figuring Sexuality Out, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Pre-Canon, Teen Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 21:30:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13132608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yavannie/pseuds/Yavannie
Summary: On an unseasonably hot fall day in her freshman year of high school, Betty Cooper is asked out on a date for the very first time.





	1. Betty

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Raptorlily](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raptorlily/gifts).



> Merry Christmas, Raptorlily!
> 
> Thank you so much [nimmieamee for beta reading this.](http://archiveofourown.org/users/nimmieamee/pseuds/nimmieamee)

On an unseasonably hot fall day in her freshman year of high school, Betty Cooper is asked out on a date for the very first time. Once it sinks in, she understands that this is the natural conclusion to a summer spent increasingly in the company of Kevin Keller, making plans for a book club at the beach by day and watching Netflix at his house by night. At first, she’s not sure it's even a  _date_ date. Not until he literally says the words ‘I’m asking you out’ does it finally click.

After the initial confusion, she’s flattered, and thrilled. Her first date, and with the boy who’s currently the number one heartthrob in her year. If she’s perfectly honest with herself, she would have preferred it if a certain next-door neighbor had finally realized they were meant to be more than just friends, but Kevin positively blossomed in their final year of middle school, growing into his teenage skin in all the right ways. He’s cute, and stylish, always smells really good, and come on, how lucky is she right now? Just thinking about it puts a spring in her step. It’s only on her way home from school that day that it hits her; that their date this Friday will likely reveal her deepest, darkest secret when it comes to boys. Namely, her complete and utter ineptitude at kissing.

“You excel at most things in life, Betty. Why would this be any different?”

The way Jughead says it, it’s not exactly a compliment. With him, it rarely is. It’s a matter-of-fact statement, delivered in an indifferent voice. While Betty sits perched on a small chair, he has resorted to half-lying on the floor of the treehouse, back hunched up against the wall, legs still a little bent in the cramped space. Though they’ve both long ago outgrown their childhood haunt in the canopy of the old maple in the Jones’s back yard, it feels like Jughead has shot up about half a foot over the summer. His hair has taken a leaf out of the growth spurt book too, sticking out here and there under his beanie. All in all, he gives the impression of a surly telegraph post with a crow’s nest perched on top.

“I don’t  _excel_ ,” Betty says. “And if I occasionally do, it’s only because I’ve had practice. Lots of practice.”

Jughead sighs and worms his way down until his back is flat against the floorboards, hands behind his neck and feet now propped up on the wall. “Honestly, how hard can it be?”

She throws a glance his way. “You mean you haven’t…?”

“Oh yeah, of  _course_ ,” he says sarcastically. “I’m sure you’ve seen the girls practically  _trample_ each other to get in line for a taste of this.” He motions at himself with a flamboyant sweep of the hand. “Seriously? If you want advice on sucking face, I suggest you go see Archie.”

 _Archie?_ The mere thought of it makes Betty’s heart do double time. “God, no,” she says with a little laugh.

“Anyway, it’s not like there’s anything  _strange_ about being bad at kissing. We’re  _fourteen_. Ask The Man and he’ll tell you you shouldn’t even be  _thinking_ about Kevin Keller in that kind of way. Not for another three years at least.”

“I’m fifteen,” Betty reminds him. “And  _everyone’s_ dating now.”

Jughead grimaces. “Yeah, it’s an unsettling development to say the least.”

A thought strikes Betty then. She came to Jughead about this because, well, she trusts him. Has always trusted him. Over the years she’s told him any number of secrets; silly secrets, dark secrets, secrets she wouldn’t tell Archie, or even Polly, and to her knowledge he’s kept them all, big or small. Perhaps if he can’t give her advice, then… She clears her throat.

“Maybe we could, you know… Help each other out?”

He frowns at her. “What do you mean?”

“Like… We both need practice, right? And you already know how inexperienced I am so it wouldn’t be a  _total_ disaster even if I’m really,  _really_ bad at kissing, and–”

Jughead holds up a hand. “Wait, are you actually suggesting that  _we_ … That you and I…”

The look on his face is hard to decipher, and Betty’s stomach roils uncomfortably as she’s struck by the full implication of what she’s just blurted out. “That was such an awkward suggestion, I’m sorry,” she says. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

He scrambles into a sitting position, pushes his hair out of his eyes and frowns down at the floor.

“No, I mean… Um... It’s cool, I guess.”

“I don’t want things to get weird,” says Betty quickly. Then she pulls a face. “Oh god, they already are, aren’t they?”

“I don’t know,” says Jughead. “I mean, this is already a weird day, and in the grand scheme of things, what you’re suggesting would barely make it into the top three of weird things to happen today.”

Betty wrings her hands together. Her palms are unnaturally damp, even in the lingering summer heat. “So, you’re saying…? Look, you absolutely don’t have to. We can forget this ever happened.”

“It’s fine. I don’t mind.” For some reason he’s avoiding looking directly at her.

“Really?”

This time he throws her a glance and a lopsided smile. “Really. Like you said, we’re helping each other out. And in the unlikely case of me ever finding myself on a date I suppose I’d better be prepared, right?”

Betty relaxes a little. It’s not going to be the end of their friendship (or the world) after all. “Of course you’ll date what are you talking about,” she says. Silence descends on them, and she picks at the frayed edges of her jean shorts, her eyes flickering briefly to meet his. “So, um… Right now, or…?”

Jughead shrugs. “I’ve got nothing better to do.”

“Okay.” Since the mere thought of kissing Jughead while squatting on a tiny chair next to a tiny table is ridiculous, she eases herself down onto the floor next to him. For a few seconds, they sit there, looking everywhere but straight at one another.

“Ugh, how do we even start?” Betty says finally.

Cocking his head thoughtfully, Jughead reaches up to push a strand of hair behind her ear. “Maybe we could…”

“Are you two _kissing_?”

They fly apart, and Betty whips around to find a pair of glittering eyes under a shock of black hair in a dirt-smudged face looking at her from the hatch in the floor. The head bobs up, revealing narrow, naked shoulders.

“Jellybean, get out!” snaps Jughead.

“No, you get out!” says Jellybean, climbing up. She’s wearing a pair of shorts and nothing else. “This is  _my_ treehouse. I’m still a child, you said so yourself. And anyway you don’t even fit in here anymore. We’re going to have club now.” She turns to Betty. “You can stay if you like, Betty. It's the final time here so it'll be pretty special.”

“Why, thank you,” says Betty, exchanging a quick smile with Jughead.

Behind Jughead’s little sister follow two wary children, around the same age. Betty recognises Chuck Clayton’s younger brother from school, but the blond girl with the neat braids and the dungaree dress she hasn’t seen before.

“At least put a t-shirt on, Jelly,” says Jughead, holding her face firmly with one hand while using his sleeve to rub the worst of the grime away.

“Get off!” she says, squirming in his grip. “It’s hot out, tell him Betty.”

“It sure is,” agrees Betty, earning an eyeroll from Jughead.

“Traitor,” he says to Betty. Then he turns to his sister again. “Where’s dad?”

“Store. He said he’d buy me a gumball bank if they had one.”

“Yeah, well. Don’t get your hopes up, monkey. Come on, Betty, let’s leave them to it.” Jughead starts down the ladder.

“Please stay, Betty,” pleads Jellybean. “I’m sure Claire is tired of being secretary by now, you can be secretary if you like.”

“I like it,” says the girl with the braids quietly.

“Another time, I promise,” says Betty, making her way down after Jughead.

Inside the house, half-filled moving boxes are lining the walls, making the narrow hallway seem even more claustrophobic than usual. Jughead steps over a rolled-up rug and squeezes past a black trash bag, filled to the bursting point with wrinkled clothes. Possibly, it’s come straight from the laundry room without passing the washing machine, Betty thinks.

“Do you want a drink?” he asks, pausing by the kitchen.

“Sure.” Now that he mentions it, she realizes her throat is parched. Whether it’s from the heat or the thought of locking lips with Jughead is hard to tell.

He rummages around in the fridge for a while, then hands her a can of Mountain Dew. “All the glasses are packed away,” he says apologetically.

Betty takes the can, so icy cold that it makes her shiver a little. It’s already beading up in the heat. “What about you?” she asks.

He shrugs. “I’m fine. I thought we had more.”

“We’ll split it.”

They sit on his bed, stripped of sheets and covers alike, passing the can between them, taking nervous sips. There's a nondescript stain on the corner of the mattress, and when Jughead notices her looking at it, he moves his leg to cover it. He needn’t have worried about the stain, she thinks, because it's a drop in an ocean. His room at a glance resembles the aftermath of a tornado. Various personal items are haphazardly thrown into, or next to, boxes, and the wardrobe yawns open, vomiting a grey-and-black mass of clothes. Only one box seems reasonably organized; unsurprisingly, it's the one containing books.

“Aren't you moving tomorrow?” Betty asks delicately.

“Tonight.”

“You have a lot of packing to do,” she remarks.

“I throwing most of it out,” he says, sounding far too chill about it. “Jelly and I have to share a room.”

“Oh,” she says, biting her lip. “That's… that's horrible. Not the sharing a room part, I mean,” she hastens to add, “but getting rid of so much stuff.”

“After all, it  _is_ just stuff,” he shrugs, picking up a small plush animal and turning it over in his hands. She recognizes it from some anime that he insisted they watch a couple of years ago, even though they were too old for cartoons by then.

“Why don't you sell it?” she suggests. “Have a yard sale.”

“No time.” He tosses the plushie on the floor.

“I'll do it,” she says firmly.

Jughead throws her a withering look. “Betty…”

“What! It's plain stupid, throwing perfectly good  _just-stuff_ out.”

She gets up from the bed, picks up the little toy and finds an empty moving box. “You're not keeping this?” she asks, holding the plushie out.

He heaves a sigh. “I thought we were supposed to be honing your kissing skills, not playing Clean Sweep,” he complains.

“I’m sure we’ll have time for both,” she says cheerfully, dropping the toy in the box.

Under her supervision, they spend a good hour sifting through his belongings, sorting them into keep, sell and throw piles. In the end, she has three boxes, filled to the brim with not just old toys, but everything from a brand new football and a number of unused knock-off baseball caps (“Dad had grand illusions about my sports career”) to Star Wars Lego (“Should have kept the box”) and a stamp collection.

“Where did you get all of these?” she asks, flipping through the album, looking at the stamps. Miniature after miniature of old kings and presidents look back at her, alongside tiny depictions of landmarks and flowers, birds and sports personalities from decades ago.

Jughead shrugs. “I got it from dad. I think I added, like, two. At the very back.”

“FP collects stamps?”

“Hah,” Jughead scoffs. “That’ll be the day. Honestly, I don’t know. I’ve always passed if off as one of those things that just seem to exist in every home, no matter what, or who, or where. Kind of like that bag of yarn every mom owns, whether or not they do any knitting.”

“The yarn bag checks out,” says Betty. Admittedly, Alice keeps hers in a hope chest in the attic, but she does own one.

“See also, at least three useless phone chargers for phones no one ever owned,” says Jughead.

“A weird stain on the basement wall.”

“Two boxes of like, a million tea lights each from IKEA. Because someone at some point made the crazy assumption that the first one will actually run out.”

Betty laughs. “You know, mom  _uses_ those tea lights. We’re probably on our third box by now.”

“Woah,” says Jughead, feigning shock. “I always knew Mrs. Cooper was a bit crazy, but that just takes the cake.”

His window is open, and through it, they can hear the sound of tires screeching into the driveway. With a groan, Jughead gets to his feet and pulls the window shut. A moment later, the front door slams.

“Jug?” Mr. Jones calls out.

“Yeah,” Jughead yells back.

“Get off your damn Nintendo and help me with the couch.”

The Game Cube is in fact packed into one of the ‘sell’ boxes. It had been a tough choice, and Betty throws him a supportive glance as he walks over to the door, sticking his head out.

“Just a minute,” he says.

“ _Now_ , Jughead,” comes FP’s voice, closer this time.

“Just a _minute!_ ”

He slams the door shut and sighs. He looks drained, Betty thinks. Like he’d much rather just lie down on the bed and sleep than go out there and help his dad carry furniture. She gets up too, reaches out for the sleeve of his shirt.

“Hey,” she says.

He turns around and gives her a startled look. “Uh, thank you,” he says hurriedly, gesturing at the boxes. “For this.”

“It’s the least I could do.” She looks around the room. It’s miles better than it was an hour ago, but there’s still work to be done. “Can I do anything else? Help you guys carry–”

“No,” he interrupts her. Then, more softly, “No. Go home, Betty. And… Good luck with the date.”

 _The date_. Somehow, she’d all but forgotten about it. And they never even got around to practicing kissing, she thinks, fleeting disappointment fluttering through her chest.

“Thanks,” she says, grabbing one of the boxes and hoisting it up into her arms. “I’ll leave these on the lawn for now, and come by later with dad to pick them up.”

“Okay,” he says. “And… Maybe we can hang. After.”

Betty smiles. “I’d like that.” And because it feels  _right_ , she plants a quick kiss on his cheek before hurrying down the hallway, trying to avoid bumping into FP.

Her dad agrees to help her pick up Jughead’s yard sale stuff, but dinner gets in the way, and then Polly has a row with mom, and by the time they finally get around to driving over to the Jones’s house, it’s dark out and the driveway is empty. The house is silent, the windows gaping curtainless, and the only traces left of Jughead are the three boxes, neatly stacked under the ladder to the treehouse.


	2. Kevin

When Friday comes around, the autumn rains have rolled in over Riverdale and the picnic tables that only a couple of days ago were overflowing with girls in sundresses and boys in tank tops now stand desolate and dripping. Kevin looks at them wistfully from the window in the English classroom until a raindrop hurrying down the window pane catches his eye, making his focus shift. Now he can see himself, too, and as with almost every time he’s accidentally caught sight of his face in a mirror this year, his reflection is a mildly startling thing to behold. The sharper angles, the cleaner lines are still novel, baffling, and should please him, but somehow they make him uneasy.

“Settle down, everyone,” says Mr. Hernandez then from the front of the classroom.

Kevin turns forward again just as Jughead Jones slides into the desk next to him. He looks like he hasn’t slept much, and possibly in his clothes. With a deep sigh, Jughead slumps down on his arms and closes his eyes, seemingly intent on making up for lost time.

They’re working on _Lord Arthur Savile’s Crime_ , and when Hernandez writes down discussion questions on the chalkboard, Kevin prods Jughead’s shoulder gently.

“Hey, have you read this?”

“Yeah,” Jughead grunts. “Haven’t you?”

“Sure, but I was prepared to answer questions about _murder_ , not marriage in Victorian England,” Kevin says.

“The story is literally about marriage in Victorian England, I don’t know what you expected, Keller.”

“Come on, I’ll write the notes, just help me out here,” he pleads.

With a drawn-out groan, Jughead props himself up on his elbows and squints at the board.

“‘What does the story tell us about marriage?’” he drawls. “I don’t know, probably nothing good considering Wilde was gay, and gay marriage was legalized in England, like, last year.”

An icy feeling shoots through Kevin. “He was?”

“Yeah, but we’re supposed to analyze the story, not the author, so we’d better look for something in the actual text…”

As they work, Kevin lets his eyes drift over to Betty. She’s in the front row, sitting next to Midge. He read a romance novel for teens a couple of years ago, and he still remembers one passage vividly, where the girl who’s crushing on the boy gets turned on just by looking at his neck. Betty’s neck is long and elegant, and he tries to see himself burying his face in the soft, fuzzy strands of hair that won’t let themselves be pulled into her ponytail. Then he thinks about kissing the little bump behind her ear, and his mouth goes uncomfortably dry with guilt, and he wrenches his gaze away. Next to him, Jughead has stopped reading the photocopied handout of _Lord Arthur Savile’s Crime_ , and is eyeing Kevin with a strange, almost hostile look on his face.

“We done with two?” he asks.

“Uuh, yes,” says Kevin, looking down at his paper, twiddling his pencil between his fingers. “Next question?”

* * *

In Biology, Kevin sits behind Moose. This, Kevin feels, is far from optimal. Moose is unable to sit still; he keeps drumming his fingers on the desk, his leg jumps uncontrollably, and worse, he turns around to glance at Kevin again and again and again. He does it with a weird, unabashed kind of fascination, as though he doesn’t think anyone else can see him looking - least of all Kevin. And Kevin does his best to uphold this illusion by staring straight ahead and past Moose at the chalkboard.

They spend the last fifteen minutes of the lesson watching a short movie about cells. As soon as the lights dim, Moose simmers down, giving Kevin some peace at last. In the flickering light from the projector, he examines Moose’s neck. It’s broad and muscular, and Kevin thinks about his own arm, locked around it at wrestling practice, the clippered hair at the nape of it rubbing against his skin.

The heat that gathers in his belly makes him angry, suddenly. He’s considered quitting wrestling because of it, because he can’t stand Moose looking at him at warm-up, across the mat, in the locker room. Dad calls Moose simple, but to Kevin, there’s nothing or no one more complicated.

* * *

He comes by Betty’s house to pick her up at seven, armed with a shirt and tie, Sauvage by Dior and flowers for her mom. Her dad predictably jokes about how he’d better treat his daughter right or he’ll be calling the cops on him, making Betty blush furiously.

“Ugh, sorry about that,” she says as they hurry towards the bus stop, arm in arm, huddled under his golf umbrella. “That's his idea of being funny, I guess.”

“I can take a joke,” says Kevin. “In fact, I’ve taken that particular joke, oh, only a hundred and fifty times or so before.”

Betty squeezes his arm a little tighter, smiling up at him.

“You look good,” she says shyly.

“So do you,” he says automatically.

But of course she does. It’s Betty Cooper, always dressed appropriately, always wearing something classic and flattering. Tonight, she’s sporting a pale blue dress that hugs her chest in a way that accentuates her breasts. He really ought to try and look at breasts more, he thinks. He’s pretty sure Betty barely had any this time last year, and now they’re suddenly just there.

They’re silent on the bus, and it strikes Kevin that picking Betty was a singularly stupid decision. Normally, their bus rides are filled with chatting and laughing and in-jokes. Now it’s just weird. He could have asked any number of girls. Ginger, or Ethel, or Melody - he’s seen the way they’ve looked at him ever since the Christmas break. And yet he asked Betty, because, why? Because Betty is his favorite girl in the whole wide world. Because if he can’t make himself like Betty like that, then what hope is there?

The foyer of the Bijou is crowded and smells of rain-wet clothes and popcorn. There's only four screens, which leaves them with a severely limited choice. Kevin snatches up a leaflet with this week’s screening times. He’s seen enough movies with her all summer to immediately know which one they’re watching tonight.

“It's gotta be _Ant-Man_ , right?” he says, looking at the schedule.

“I've seen it actually,” says Betty apologetically. “On the opening night, with Jughead. But I can totally see it again, it was a good laugh,” she hastens to add.

“No, of course not,” he says, waving her off. He glances at their options again. “ _The Maze Runner_ is sold out, so… Spy comedy or horror?”

They end up watching _The Man From U.N.C.L.E_ , which objectively is extremely mediocre, but when Armie Hammer wrestles Henry Cavill to the floor, Kevin becomes so flustered that he sends a grateful prayer to any deity listening for the darkness of the theatre.

Once the lights go up again, and they start gathering up their belongings, his eyes fall on a couple in the row in front of them. They’re holding hands, kissing slowly, lingering behind to savor the moment while the credits roll. He wants to kick himself for not even thinking about reaching out for Betty’s hand. They’d shared a large popcorn, even raised the armrest for extra space. So many chances, all blown.

“What now?” asks Betty cheerfully as they step outside into the brisk night air.

“Shakes at Pop’s?” he suggests.

It’s stopped raining, so they walk past the cemetary and the Police Station to follow the train tracks east towards their favorite haunt. The further they walk, the more the guilt gnaws at him. He shouldn’t have asked her out. He shouldn’t ask _anyone_ out. Then Betty sneaks her hand into his, and he stops walking.

“Betty,” he says.

“Yes?”

She turns to him, still holding on to his hand, stepping close, tilting her face up expectantly. His heart, already beating very hard, punches at his chest painfully. She’s so beautiful. There’s no denying it. Beautiful and kind, funny and warm, and right now she’s leaning in, waiting for him to kiss her. _At least try it, you idiot_ , something inside him screams. The sidewalk is still glistening with rain and they’re in a pool of light from a lamppost; they must look like something out of a movie, he thinks as he bends down and presses his lips against hers.

It feels bewildering and mechanical, as though he’s doing it for a dare, and about half a second into it, he knows with absolute certainty that the kiss is a mistake.

“Sorry,” he says, pulling away.

“Mm, yeah,” says Betty, pressing a hand to her mouth, looking mortified. “That was…”

“Weird,” they say as one.

“So weird,” says Betty, now clutching her forehead.

“It’s me,” Kevin blurts, feeling an intense need to make sure she knows this. “I’m an idiot. This was the worst idea. The _worst_.”

Seeing the look on Betty’s face, it dawns on him that this was not the best way of putting things.

“Let me explain,” he says.

“Or we could just,” she waves a hand in the air “pretend it never happened.” Probably, she’s imagining what a thorough explanation of why kissing her is a bad idea would sound like.

“Betty, I like guys.”

It comes out, just like that. He feels a twinge of regret. He would have liked to tell dad first, would have liked to plan it. But there it is, and Betty would have been next on the list, that’s for sure.

“Kevin…” she says, dipping her chin. Then her mouth pulls into a little smile. “Really?”

He has to close his eyes to say it. “Yes.” Then he looks at her again. “No one knows.”

“Oh my god…” she says quietly, holding her arms out.

A hug is infinitely better than a kiss. They hug for a long time, until everything feels normal and safe between them again.

“Still want to go for that shake?” she asks as they start walking.

There are things that still need to be said, but perhaps right now is not the time. He can tell she's making an effort to show him that nothing has changed, that their friendship is the same now as it was a week ago, and maybe that's enough for tonight, for both of them.

“Absolutely,” he says, looping his arm through hers.

* * *

He agrees to help Betty with a yard sale the next day. Jughead has moved house, apparently, and she's selling some of the stuff he cleaned out. They sit in camping chairs on her front lawn behind a table where Jughead's things are laid out, waiting for neighbors and passers-by to come and have a look.

“I'm sorry for leading you on,” says Kevin.

“It was barely a date, Kev,” says Betty.

“Still. It feels like I used you for some kind of… experiment or something. To see if there was even the slightest chance.” It's been eating at him ever since he first asked her out.

But Betty shrugs it off. “I mean, I was super flattered but… I do have a crush on someone else.”

“Jughead,” Kevin says, looking down at the things in front of them, neatly arranged by Betty. Even as he jumps to this conclusion, he considers Jughead Jones, wondering if he’s really the sort of boy you crush on.

She frowns. “What? No!” Then she lowers her voice. “Can you keep a secret?”

As if she hasn’t currently got the biggest hold in the universe on him. “Of course,” he says.

“It's Archie.”

That makes sense, Kevin thinks. Next door neighbors, childhood friends, and Archie, just like Kevin, had grown more and more into sports, and consequently into his own body, in the last year.

“He's cute,” Kevin says with a smile. “Do you know if he likes you back?”

Betty sighs. “I hope he does, but he's been chatting with this girl from Greendale all summer…”

The day wears on, and slowly, the items on the table start to thin as the lockbox next to Betty fills up with dollar bills. One of the things left is a book that looks a little like a photo album, and Kevin picks it up out of curiosity. Opening it is a pleasant surprise - it's a stamp collection. He flips through it, scanning the pages with a trained eye. Most of the stamps are worthless; old but common, almost none of them mint. But halfway through the book, his heart nearly stops.

“Oh my god, Betty,” he says, fumbling for his phone in his pocket. “Don't sell this to _anyone_ , ok? I need to make a call…”


	3. Jughead

On the Monday after the week when Everything Happened, Jughead barely makes it to school. Without Jellybean to drop off at Wilson Park Elementary, there seems to be little incentive to even get out of the sofa that serves as his bed. In the end, being alone in the trailer with FP passed out in the bedroom is simply the worst in a long line of many bad options. The walk to school is very, very long, and he nearly changes his mind at least five times, but somehow his legs eat the yards away one by one until he arrives, just in time for third period.

At lunch break, Betty comes hurtling down the corridor towards his locker. He can see her coming from so far away that he has enough time to think of various disheartening reasons for her apparent glee. The date with Kevin Keller looms as the most prominent one.

“You’re here!” she says breathlessly. “I didn’t think you were going to show.”

“It’s called being fashionably late,” he says, cramming his bag into the locker and shouldering it shut.

“Wait, get your bag again,” says Betty.

He sighs but does as she tells him. “What now?” he asks.

She glances around surreptitiously, as if making sure no one’s looking, and then pulls a crinkled envelope from her bag. It’s strapped secured with several rubber bands.

“Why do I get the feeling you’re going to ask me to off a guy?” he says, eyeing the bundle suspiciously.

“It’s the money from the yard sale,” she says in a hushed voice.

He frowns at her, but accepts the envelope all the same. When he starts removing the rubber bands, she swats at his hands.

“Not here!”

“Why–” he starts, but she grabs his arm and pulls him down the corridor, trying doors as they go.

“In here,” she says when one yields, and seconds later, he’s standing inside a cramped closet under the stairs with her, surrounded by dusty brooms and old overalls.

In the light of a bulb that looks like it hasn’t been used in decades, he opens the envelope. The sight of the bills makes his head swim. Six of them especially.

“Holy shit,” he says, carefully rifling through the stack. “This has got to be at least seven hundred bucks, Betty.”

“Eight hundred and twenty seven, to be exact,” she says with a grin.

“How…”

“That stamp collection,” she says excitedly. “Most of it was worthless, but there was one from Southern Rhodesia. _Mint_.”

She says ‘mint’ like she’s only just learned what it means in terms of collectibles and has been dying to use it in a sentence.

“Southern Rhodesia,” Jughead repeats. His geography skills aren’t the best, but certainly not the worst either. “Is that even a country?”

“Not anymore. It _was_ a British colony in Africa, where Zimbabwe is now. And the stamps are super rare. Kevin found it randomly, and he knew someone who paid six hundred dollars for it.”

 _Kevin_. Even in the face of eight hundred and twenty seven dollars, the name stings. Jughead looks down at the money again. “It’s too much,” he says. “You guys should keep half, at least. Finders’ fee.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” says Betty. She chews her lip briefly. “You could get a phone,” she suggests.

Jughead nods silently. It’s 2015, he’s nearly fifteen years old, and for the past couple of years he’s been pretending he’s the epitome of cool and carefree by not owning a mobile phone.

“Buy you lunch at least?” he asks.

Betty has her bike locked up outside, and because they’re not sure how much weight the carrier can take, Betty sits on it while he takes the seat. He pedals furiously with her behind him, clinging on to his shirt, her clear laughter ringing out across the streets as they speed towards Pop’s.

The fries seem extra crispy, the burger especially juicy, the shake particularly creamy, and he savors every crunch, bite and sip. Only one tiny thing still nags at him, and in a completely uncharacteristic show of pure guts, he goes ahead and _asks_.

“How’d the date go?”

“Umm…” she says, smiling cryptically. “Not...according to plan?”

“Okay?”

She pulls a face like she’s not sure she should talk about it. “It’s a long story,” she says finally. “Safe to say it’s _not_ happening,” she laughs.

Counting out the bills to pay for both of them makes him feel like a million dollars. Pop won’t let him tip, so he slides a five dollar bill under his milkshake glass before they leave. They’re late for fifth period, but not even Betty minds much. Slipping shamefacedly into the classroom together with her, all eyes on the two of them, is the icing on this triple-layer fudge cake of a day.

Kevin Keller comes out to the rest of the school at Halloween, during a particularly rowdy party at Reggie Mantle’s house. Not that Jughead was there to see it, but these things spread like wildfire, even to the outskirts of the high school social scene. By then, Jughead had guessed it, could probably have confirmed it by asking Betty, had he wanted to. But by then, Betty had shifted her focus away from not only Kevin, but Jughead too.

Fall is giving way to winter, Archie has ditched his summer fling, and suddenly, all bets are off again.

* * *

Fast forward one year exactly from the day when a kiss was supposed to happen but never did. Jason Blossom is dead, and both Jughead and Betty's lives seem to be unraveling as a consequence. Right now, hers is gliding just a bit faster, and it leaves him torn. On the one hand, seeing her despair over the Blossoms, over her parents, over Polly, is heartbreaking. Snooping around at Thornhill was terrifying. Visiting the asylum was bordering on surreal. And yet, on the other hand… They did it together, are spending more time together than they have for months.

He’s been walking unseeing, deep in his thoughts, but a certain familiarity makes him look up and take in the surroundings. _Oh_. A lurking discomfort stirs inside him as he passes their old house. The new owners have done it up, and taken the maple down, treehouse and all. Still, this is where it started, this _idea_ that maybe, just maybe, Betty Cooper isn't a complete stranger to the concept of kissing Jughead Jones.

That idea has reared its head again of late, and yes, in the midst of all the chaos, with drive-ins being demolished and sisters jumping out of windows, daydreaming that _maybe_ is his number one guilty pleasure. He wonders what Betty would think if she knew that a small, shameful part of him doesn't want the misery to end, because then what reason would they have to hang out?

He's on his way to her house now. She'd texted him during final period that she needed to talk to him later, about Polly, and he takes that as enough of an invitation to drop in unannounced. Her company is the only excuse he needs, but it's especially nice to have a distraction of some kind in the evenings. He has to wait until Mr. Svenson leaves before he sneaks into the school again, and while the free, unlimited Wi-Fi is a plus, the closet doesn’t really have much else going for it.

At least he's getting some writing done. The weight of his laptop is comforting against his side. He has Betty to thank for that, too; buying second hand stretched the money from Kevin's stamp collector pretty far.

Jughead considers Kevin Keller. Kevin took a leap, and he seems to be thriving. At least if his little tryst with a Serpent at the drive-in a couple of weeks ago is anything to go by. Jughead saw them and briefly worried that his dad (Kevin’s dad, Jughead’s dad, both dads) would find out, then promptly decided it was none of his business. He’s not sure exactly what happened between Betty and Kevin on that date, a year ago, almost to the day. At the time, he was too fixated on his own missed opportunity to give it much thought.

Kevin put the work in, though, he thinks. He didn’t settle for missed opportunities.

When he arrives at the Cooper residence, he’s reluctant to ring the bell. Breakfast with Mrs. Cooper yesterday was barely worth getting to eat a day’s worth of calories in one sitting, and he doubts her demeanor has improved with the news that Polly escaped from the Sisters of Quiet Mercy after Betty and he came to visit.

Luckily, there’s a ladder leaning against the side of the house, and it’s a simple enough thing to move it a few feet to the left, giving him access to Betty’s room without having to worry about Alice. As he climbs the rungs, he feels determined, somehow. Determined to make the best and the most of this. Maybe even make an opportunity.

The look Betty gives him when he knocks on her window is incredulous, but somehow pleased. Like she’s pleased to see him. She slides the window open.

“Hey there, Juliet,” he says.


End file.
